His arms wrapped around her so tight it hurt in the best way.
“I wasn’t sure you’d say yes,” he murmured into her hair.
“I wasn’t sure either. But Damian is fighting. And I realized I’ve been standing still. I don’t want to anymore.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “So you’ll marry me?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling through tears.
He kissed her, fierce and certain.
It should have been perfect. But the world tilted. Wind roared in her ears. Her knees buckled without warning.
“Daphne?”
She barely heard him. Cold slammed into her spine as her foot slipped on the frozen ground. Her shoulder cracked against the fence. Her head hit the edge. A white-hot flash burst behind her eyes… then nothing.
The ground vanished beneath her just as he yelled in a low, urgent voice, “Stay with me, Daph. Stay with me.”
CHAPTER 7
Abe caught Daphne too late.
Her body went limp in his arms. Her head hit the edge of the fence with a sickening thud that echoed through his body. “Daphne!”
He dropped to his knees, one arm cradling her shoulders, the other cupping her skull. Blood slicked her hair just above the ear. Her lips were parted, skin flushed and burning despite the cold.
“No. No—no, no. Dammit!”
He scooped her up. Her limbs were weightless, boneless, her head lolling against his shoulder. Her skin was hot and damp with fever, but he could feel the tremors of chills. Guilt hit like a gut punch. She’d only come out looking for him because he’d been sulking like a wounded animal in the barn.
He carried her inside, ignoring the wet snow his boots tracked across the floor, and lowered her gently onto the couch. “Sweetheart. Look at me. Please.”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips moved, but no words came.
Her pulse was too fast. Skin flushed. Breathing shallow. Fever.
Shit.
It was probably an adrenal crash, exacerbated by dehydration, given how little she’d been eating and drinking. He should’ve made her stop training. He should’ve paid attention. He should’ve done more.
The bedroom door creaked open. Damian stood there, pale and swaying slightly, a plaid blanket wrapped over his shoulders. His jaw was bruised, his mouth set in a grim line. His shirt and jeans were damp and clung to his frame. Even with the sloped shoulder and gash at his temple, the Mosby fire burned in his eyes. Sharper now. More grounded, like their father’s.
So much so that Abe was shocked he’d never noticed it in all the years they spent growing up together.
He rose. “She collapsed. Hit her head on the railing.”
Damian’s gaze moved from Daphne’s flushed face to Abe’s shaking hands, wet with melting snow and panic.
He nodded once, then shifted—and winced.
Abe’s gut clenched. “Your shoulder’s out.”
Damian blinked.
“Come here.” Abe’s voice roughened. “I’ll fix it.”
He tucked the blanket around Daphne, then guided Damian to the edge of the coffee table. Daphne whimpered but didn’t wake.
